


The Second Fall

by SherLockedAt221B



Series: Depressing Sherlock Stuff [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Caring Mycroft, Depressed Sherlock Holmes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Sherlock, St. Bart's Hospital, Suicidal Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12269133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherLockedAt221B/pseuds/SherLockedAt221B
Summary: Sherlock watched the busy street below him. So many little people, getting on with their own boring little lives. Sherlock did wonder what it must be like to live in such a tiny head. It must be so boring.None of them looked up. If they had, they would have seen a coat-clad figure sitting on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital, swinging his feet off the edge idly and watching the proceedings below; seemingly without a care in the world.They would have been wrong.AU set just after TST. Hurt/Comfort and bromance. Maybe a major character death...





	The Second Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the long wait, but right now I'm working all out on my universe for my novel I will be entering for NaNoWriMo this year. I also have flu, so if this is not as good as the others... That's why. Enjoy, I hope!

Sherlock watched the busy street below him. So many little people, getting on with their own boring little lives. Sherlock did wonder what it must be like to live in such a tiny head. It must be so boring.

None of them looked up. If they had, they would have seen a coat-clad figure sitting on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital, swinging his feet off the edge idly and watching the proceedings below; seemingly without a care in the world.

They would have been wrong.

Sherlock’s phone dinged suddenly, and the screen flashed on. He fished it out of his pocket without much interest, but hoping deep, deep down that it was John.

_Murder at Trafalgar Square. Can you come? -GL_

Even though he had barely let himself hope that it was John, Sherlock felt his heart sink. Of course it wasn't John. He thought bitterly. John hates me.

He dropped his phone down next to him, all motivation to look at it gone. He sat there for a few minutes, until phone beeped and the screen lit up again.

_Sherlock, did you get my text? Answer me! -GL_

Once again, Sherlock ignored it. None of it would matter soon. The phone sounded again, but this time Sherlock didn't bother to look.

He stood up, contemplating the drop coolly. The sun was almost set now, and there were far less people below. So much the better, it was quieter and more peaceful.

Well, until Greg’s BMW came tearing round the corner, that is.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~

This had to be the busiest day for a long, long time.

Greg sifted through the huge pile of paperwork on his desk gloomily. Why was there always so much?

One small, seemingly innocent piece of paper caught his eye. Greg picked it up and scanned it. Murder at Trafalgar Square, in public, yet nobody had seen it done. Sherlock would love this one!

Greg picked up his phone and sent Sherlock a text, asking him to come.

Ten minutes and several sheets of paper later, there was still no reply. This wasn’t like Sherlock, he normally replied straight away.

 _Give him five more minutes._ Greg decided. _If he hasn’t answered by then, I’ll call John._

But Greg didn’t have to wait five minutes. Three minutes later, a strange number called his phone.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade?” A sharp, imperious voice cut through the line.

“Yes, who-“ Greg began.

“I believe you are acquainted with my brother, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes, but who-“

“He is currently on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital, with intentions of coming down the same way he did last time.”

“Christ!” Greg bolted upright and began sprinting to the door.

“Do be careful, his state of mind is quite fragile. _Sentiment_. I did warn him.” The voice sighed scoldingly. “I shall arrive in as short a time as I can, however you shall arrive faster. Do not let him jump.” Then a click and an insistent buzz told Greg that the call had ended.

Throwing on his coat and jamming his phone into the pocket, he swept out of the station, leaving Donovan in charge.

—

Greg arrived in the record time of 8 minutes and 43 seconds. Leaping out of his car, he looked up, scanning the rooftop frantically for any sign of Sherlock.

There! Standing on the edge! Sherlock was on the edge, long coat billowing ‘round him, just like last time. Greg shuddered at the memories.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly dialled Sherlock’s number. His heart fluttering in his chest, he waited for Sherlock to answer.

He saw the figure on the edge look down at the ridge below him, pick up his phone, and drop it squarely over the edge. It landed in on the pavement with a definitive crack, completely broken.

_Damn._

Greg decided to try the direct approach.

“SHERLOCK! COME DOWN, PLEASE!” He yelled. Sherlock stepped up on to the very edge, looking down with less trepidation, more mild curiosity.

Sensing what he was about to do, Greg bolted into the building, and sprinted up the stairs.

He reached to roof after what seemed like forever, panting and out of breath, desperately searching for the black-clad figure.

Another screeching of tyres, followed by a car door slamming told him that Sherlock’s brother what’s-his-name had arrived.

There! Greg looked to his left and saw Sherlock peering off the edge with a bored expression. A voice issued from below, the same cold, emotionless voice as had come through the phone earlier.

“I get the feeling this is not some part of one of your crazy experiments.”

“Piss off, Mycroft.” Sherlock called down.

“Oh dear, so rude! Whatever would Mummy say?” Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft, drawled.

Sherlock chose not to answer.

 _Keep him distracted…_ Greg thought. He began to creep toward Sherlock from behind, quieter that quiet.

“Come down, and stop being such a sentimental fool. Emotions don’t suit you.” Mycroft kept talking, regardless of Sherlock’s silence.

Sherlock spread his arms out. _No! Just a few more seconds…_

Greg crept closer… closer…

Sherlock began to let himself fall forwards.

“I called John. He is on his way, he seems frantic.” Mycroft shouted without enthusiasm.

Sherlock froze, just a moment before he jumped.

“What?”

“Yes.”

Greg made his move. Springing forward, he wrapped his arms round Sherlock’s slim torso and pulled. Hard. They both toppled backwards, Sherlock seemingly paralysed by shock.

Greg scrambled up, digging his spare handcuffs he kept on had for emergencies out of his pocket, and he promptly cuffed Sherlock. Sherlock, having recovered from his shock, looked down and saw his hands. He looked back up at Greg.

“Well, it seems you have me.” Even an angry outburst would have been better than that empty, dead voice.

“Come on, Sherlock. Let’s go down, your brother’s waiting.” Greg said, panting a little from his sudden exertion. Sherlock didn’t reply, so Greg gently took his arm and made his way down to the road below. As they descended, the third screech of a car made itself heard. John.

As soon as they exited the door, John came barrelling in to them, enveloping Sherlock in a hug.

“Sherlock, thank God! You’re safe! I was so worried.” He exclaimed into the thick black cloth of his best friend’s Belstaff.

Sherlock looked a little taken aback, then raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t seem so worried last time we met.” He looked a little disdainful,

The little ex-army doctor let go and stepped back.

“Oh Sherlock… I’m so sorry…” He breathed.

“No need to be. I killed your wife.” Sherlock seemed utterly detatched, staring off into space blankly

“No. It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. I should never have said it was.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“My fault…” He breathed. He looked down at his hands, and tugged experimentally. “Lestrade, if you would be kind enough? I am no longer in any danger of jumping off the roof.” He looked sour.

Greg reached forward and undid the cuffs, and Sherlock moved his hands away from each other, flapping them a little as if testing that they were really free.

“Well, if that is all, I shall be going.” He began to walk away, by was stopped by John, standing squarely in front of him.

“No. Sherlock, just no.”

Sherlock stopped, a little nonplussed by the pure determination emanating from the fierce little doctor.

“Stop. It was not your fault! Mary chose to give her life for yours, and completely threw that away.” John’s voice shook a little. “I made her sacrifice worthless. I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m sorry.”

After a few moments of careful thought on Sherlock’s part, he finally spoke.

“It’s.. okay, John.” He said hesitantly, as if unsure of what he was saying.

“Are we… friends again?” John asked, almost as if it were too good to be true.

“Yes.”

John enveloped Sherlock in a hug again, but it was different this time, because Sherlock hugged back.

Even Mycroft smiled a little.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t be a ghost reader, leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed!


End file.
